


I'll Follow You Into The Dark

by paintitb1ack



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Bisexual Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Fluff and Angst, Gay Rafael Barba, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: Detective Sonny Carisi isn't out yet, but it doesn't seem to matter. He's already getting bullied by one coworker and doesn't see why the other people he works with won't do the same thing. Noticing the tension in the squad room, Sergeant Benson calls in the best resource available: District Attorney Rafael Barba.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to be able to trust, not live in perpetual self-defense." - Anaïs Nin

Sonny Carisi sits back in his chair, an ice pack pressed against his face.

It’s been hours since the Super Bowl party, since Declan Murphy pistol-whipped him, but his face is still a bit swollen. His right eye is now shadowed by a bruise and the nasty cut on his lip makes him wince every time he speaks.

Rollins watches him from her own desk, toeing his foot until he looks at her. “You alright, Carisi? Declan really did a number on you.”

“I’m fine.” Leaning into the ice pack, Carisi glances up as Amaro enters the room. “But I dunno what _his_ problem is.”

“What’re you talking about?”

The older detective puts the ice pack down. “He left me in the holdin’ cell. Took Finn and Declan and, when I asked if he wanted me too, he made some comment about me makin’ you guys miss the Super Bowl.”

Rollins shrugs. “He probably thought it’d be less suspicious if he took you out one at a time.”

Leaning forwards, Carisi replies, “I was the _last one,_ Rollins. I was in there for somethin’ like five hours before someone came to get me.” He scoffs. “And it wasn’t even Amaro; the Sarge had to do it.”

Suddenly, a thick file slams against the side of the Italian’s desk, causing him to jump. Seeing Rollins’ eyes dart to the space next to him, he looks up at the person responsible for the noise.

It’s Amaro.

“Hey Nick,” he says, swiveling in his direction. “What’s up?”

The other detective slaps the files down on Carisi’s keyboard. “You guys talking about me?”

Not wanting to start a fight, Carisi backs up and gets to his feet. “‘Course not.”

Nick, however, doesn’t read him right and thinks he’s being insulted. Moving into his space, he says, “Well, I’ve got a few things to say about you.”

Carisi slips his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Those girls,” Amaro replies. “The ones at the party. They were all over you, _Dominick,_ and what did you do?”

Seeing where he’s headed, Carisi starts, “Nick---”

But Amaro won’t let him finish. “You sat there the whole time, talking about the game. ‘Put your money on the Pats.’ That’s what you said, right?” He touches two fingers to his vest. “One of the girls even sat on your _lap._ And you didn’t even react.”

“It was a sting.”

“You know what I mean,” Nick says, glancing just below the other detective’s belt. “Tell me…” His voice quiets as he leans in, breath hot on Carisi’s face. “Were you turned on at all?”

Carisi feels his chest go tight. This can’t be happening, not here, not now. He begins to stutter out a reply when Rollins steps in between them.

“Nick…” She starts, the name more of a threat than anything else. “Back off.”

Amaro looks at her for a long moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then he smiles knowingly, scoffing, “You doing him too?” When she doesn’t reply, he cocks his head. “I heard about your thing with Declan,” he continues, voice low. “You gonna sleep your way around the entire department?”

Rollins’ fingers curls themselves into fists and, in that moment, she wonders why she was ever with Nick in the first place.

Carisi touches her arm in gentle warning. “Amanda, please.”

Taking a breath, Rollins shoots Amaro one final glare before finally stepping away.

There’s a double-knock in the direction of the sergeant’s office and all three of them look over to see Benson standing in the doorway. “We got a problem here?” She asks, but she honestly doesn’t need an answer. She heard the whole thing, from the moment Carisi told Rollins how Amaro left him in the holding cell. After being forced to release Carisi herself, she called Nick into her office and asked him what happened. But Nick just shrugged and said, “Guess I forgot.” Sighing, Benson waved him from the room. It was late and everyone was exhausted, so she resolved to talk to him further in the morning. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Rollins was prepared to knock him on his ass before that could happen.

Amaro’s gaze flicks back to Carisi before he replies, “No, we’re all good here. Isn’t that right, Sonny?”

The other man licks his lips, choosing not to look at Benson. He knows she’ll see through him in an instant, and he can’t deal with any more questions right now. “Right,” he says. Sliding past Amaro, he sits back down in front of his computer. “All good.”

Nick remains behind him for a couple more moments, causing Carisi to jump for the second time in five minutes as he pats him on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, detective,” he says. Then he walks back to his own desk and takes his jacket from its place on the back of his chair. Shrugging it on, he gives the squad room a mocking salute before finally leaving the room.

Benson’s gaze moves from Amaro to Carisi, and she frowns at how still the latter detective has gotten. She’s pretty sure she knows what this is all about; she guessed it the moment Carisi walked into the squad room for the first time. But eventually she decides that she won’t question him either, at least not right now. She’s been friends with Carisi long enough to recognize what he looks like when he’s anxious: shallow breathing, tense shape, and an unwillingness or inability to discuss anything until he’s calmed down. It only takes a few seconds of deliberation for her to decide what she has to do. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she scrolls through her contact list before finally pressing her thumb against one of the names. She holds it to her ear, listening to it ring once, twice, three times before someone finally picks up. “Hey,” she speaks into the phone, eyes still on Carisi. “I need you to do me a favor.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And then there are days when the simple act of breathing leaves you exhausted. It seems easier to give up on this life. The thought of disappearing brings you peace. For so long I was lost in a place where there was no sun. Where there grew no flowers. But every once in a while out of the darkness something I loved would emerge and bring me to life again." - Rupi Kaur

Benson steps out of her office and closes the door, bag slung over her shoulder as she breathes out a sigh of relief.

Johnny Drake is sitting in one of the holding cells right now, waiting to be transferred to a more secure facility for the night. The squad arrested him earlier that day and, all things considered, it was a complete success. Multiple girls were retrieved, including Ariel, the one they set out to find in the first place.

But now it’s nearly midnight, and Lucy called just a few minutes ago with news that Noah is running a slight fever. After checking with the officers watching over Johnny D, she decided to pack up and go home.

Tapping her pocket to ensure she has her phone, Benson heads towards the elevators. Then she hears the _click-clack_ of a keyboard and takes a moment to look towards the noise. Her eyes immediately catch on Carisi, who is hunched over his computer and muttering to himself.

It’s not a new thing, him staying late. Aside from the two of them, everyone has gone home, which wouldn’t concern her if it hadn’t begun doing this three days prior, the night of the Super Bowl sting and his fight with Amaro.

From the unkempt hair that dangles in front of his face and the crumpled dress shirt that he has buttoned only halfway up, it’s clear that he isn’t sleeping well, if at all. And, considering what she walked in on nearly eighteen hours earlier, it’s possible that he’s yet to go home.

At around three o’clock that morning, an officer working the night shift found Carisi standing in front of one of the vending machines. His gaze was locked on a king-size Snickers bar, but he didn’t move to put any money in the slot. He just stared at it, slack-jawed, eyes glazed over, neither physically nor mentally registering the cop as he walked up behind him. One tap on the shoulder, however, and suddenly the officer was in a headlock, but not before he managed a surprised shout. Hearing the commotion, three other cops came to investigate the noise. Not knowing that Carisi was a detective, they rushed him, tackling him the floor and locking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

Eventually one of them noticed the badge clipped to his belt and proceeded to call Benson. Unable to reach her because of the early hour, they decided to bring Carisi back to the squad room. Olivia walked in the next morning to find the detective mumbling unintelligibly on the floor of her office. He was manacled to one of the legs of her sofa and didn’t even seem to register his sergeant’s questions of concern as she let him go. He just walked back to his own desk, took off his jacket and tie, and began to hold what looked like a staring contest with his computer.

All day, she’s been keeping an eye on him, and he hasn’t done anything concerning since the vending machine debacle. But now that she’s going home, she doesn’t want to leave him here by himself.

“Hey, Carisi?” She calls, gently tapping his desk.

It takes the detective a moment, but eventually he looks up. “Yeah?”

She sighs at the slight tremor in his voice. “Why don’t you head on home? You’ve been working pretty hard for the past few days and I think you could use a break, especially after what happened with Johnny D.” Gesturing towards the door, she adds, “I could drive you if you need a ride.”

“Thanks, Sarge.” Carisi grins in a way that isn’t even remotely comforting. “But I got a lotta things to catch up on.” Seeing her lips begin to part, he cuts her off, saying, “And yeah, I’m fine. You’ve been lookin’ at me weird all day and I know you’ve been dyin’ to ask me how I’m doin’. And I’m doin’ fine. Honestly.”

“You sure?” She asks, not believing him for an instant. But he’s an adult, so it’s not as if she can demand he go home. And, though she’s positive she could take him in a fight, she’s not sure forcing him into the back of her car would be a great idea.

Carisi holds up three fingers in a sort of salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Thumbing at her bag, Benson is about to protest when her phone _ding-dings_ from inside her jacket. She pulls it out and looks at the screen, a wisp of a smile on her face as she reads the text. “Alright,” she says as she tucks it away. “Call me if you need me.” Patting her pocket again to make sure the phone is secure, she leaves for the elevators looking a bit more relieved.

Carisi doesn’t even notice her exit. He’s back to staring at his computer, and doesn’t look up again until he hears someone knocking on the doorway to the squad room. And when he does, his heart does a small flip.

For standing just a few yards away, briefcase in hand, is District Attorney Rafael Barba.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things just seemed to hurt less with you. You took all of my pain and you threw it away and for that, I could never thank you enough." - Kristie Betts

The only thing Barba can think in that moment is how right Liv was to call him. He breezes in and out of the squad room almost on a daily basis, whether it be to look into a case or just to flirt with Carisi for a bit. But it’s been a week since he managed to make an appearance that’s lasted longer than a couple of minutes, and it seems as though his negligence has only helped the lanky detective into his tailspin.

Or at least that’s what Barba would like to think. Carisi probably isn’t even aware that the lawyer is flirting with him, or that he has been since they first met. Barba is nearly one hundred percent certain that Sonny is gay - or, at the very least, bisexual - but he’s not sure how to approach the situation outside of asking the detective out.

But at least for now, he’ll have to shove that idea aside. Liv gave him a rundown on what has been happening since the Super Bowl party and, suffice to say, he is not happy. He was even considering confronting Amaro when Liv chidingly reminded him of the height difference between the two, as well as the fact that Nick carries a gun and, if the past is any indicator, would not hesitate to use it. So Barba decided to take Liv up on her offer and do the next best thing.

“Counselor?” Carisi calls, and the lawyer smiles to himself, secretly amused at the way the lilt of the detective’s accent catches on the end of the word. As it turns out, it’s difficult for a purebred Italian say the letter “r” without it sounding like he’s at a check-up and the doctor just told him to stick out his tongue. “What’s goin’ on?”

Fingers tap-tap-tapping against his jacket, Barba moves further into the squad room. “I came up here to talk to Liv about Johnny D, but…” He gestures towards the elevators.

“She wanted t’ get home to her kid,” the detective finishes, eyes following the lawyer’s every move.

Barba clicks his tongue. “Yup.”

“So why are you still here?”

Watching the younger man for a moment, Barba sets his briefcase down and sighs heavily. “Carisi, listen,” he begins, leaning against the detective’s desk. “I heard about what happened with Amaro.”

A dark red floods Carisi’s cheeks as he looks away from the lawyer, overwhelmingly embarrassed. “Who, uh… who told you?”

Barba tilts his head just a little, trying to catch Carisi’s gaze. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.” The detective picks up a red pen and clicks it a couple of times. “Was it Liv?”

Softly, Barba murmurs, “She cares about you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Carisi says. He glances up, a wry smile on his face as he redirects, “It’s been a few days though, where’ve you been?”

Eyebrows raised, the lawyer adjusts his jacket. “Work” is the answer he decides on; it’s far less complicated than the truth.

Besides, the response gets a small laugh out of Carisi, as well as a unifying “I hear that.” His hair sways out from in front of his face for a brief moment, allowing Barba an accidental glimpse of the deep purple that rings his right eye.

Reaching out with one hand, Barba asks, “May I?”

Unsure of what he’s going for, the detective barely manages to get out a nervous, “Yeah, uh, sure.”

Barba gently brushes the grey locks aside, fingers barely skimming the other man’s skin as he takes in the damage Declan did to his face. Carisi’s mouth is sporting what will probably end up being an ugly scar as well. Brushing his thumb across the detective’s temple, Barba asks, “Did Amaro do that?”

Carisi immediately pulls back, waving the lawyer away. “No,” he says incredulously. “No, of course not.”

Barba gives a small sigh. He wants to touch Carisi, to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how, so he just keeps his hands in his lap. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Carisi. The girls were underage - not to mention the fact that it was a sting - so it’s not unusual that you felt uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that,” Carisi replies quietly.

“What do you mean?”

The detective takes a deep breath but, before he can reply, Barba’s phone starts buzzing. Seeing the lawyer continue to look at him, Carisi gestures for him to answer it.

Frowning, Barba reluctantly clicks the phone on and presses it to his ear. There are a few “okay”s and one or two “I see”s before the lawyer finally says “thank you” and ends the call.

Carisi watches as he puts the phone away, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s official,” Barba finally supplies. “Johnny D is being arraigned at 10am.”

“Sounds good,” the detective says, sitting back in his chair. “Probably means you should go home an’ get some sleep.”

Barba “mm”s softly for a moment. Then, pushing back to his feet, he asks, “What about you? Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

“No, why?”

“Grab your coat,” the lawyer replies, hoping what he’s about to say won’t make it sound like he’s asking Carisi on a date. “I’m taking you out to my favourite bar. Drinks are on me, but nothing top-shelf. I’m not _that_ wealthy.”

The detective chuckles softly. “Thanks,” he says. “But, uh, I’m alright.”

A frown pulls at the corner of Barba’s mouth. “Carisi?” He asks gently. “Why aren’t you going home?”

Clearing his throat, Carisi replies, “If it’s all the same to you, counselor, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Barba raises both hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough.” Moving a few feet away, he takes Rollins’ chair and rolls it up to Carisi’s desk. Then he sits down as he pulls up the dial pad on his phone.

Both surprised and a bit confused, the detective leans towards him and asks, “What are you doin’?”

Inputting a number, Barba replies, “I’m ordering dinner.” He returns the phone to his ear. “Italian, obviously.”

Carisi opens his mouth to speak, but the lawyer cuts him off: “And no, you’re not paying.”

“But---”

Barba holds up a finger in warning and the detective immediately halts his protests. Pleased with his mini victory, the lawyer offers up a teasing grin.

A flicker of a smile appears on Carisi’s face for the briefest of moments and, though he tries to hide it, the lawyer still manages to catch a glimpse of it before it disappears.

Barba crosses his legs and listens to the phone as it rings. There is only one Italian restaurant nearby that is still open this late, and he is lucky enough to have befriended the owner. Why he did, he’ll never admit. The food itself is subpar, but it’s better than nothing.

It takes a little while, but someone finally picks up. “Hello, yes, I would like to order one veal rollatini and one…” He eyes Carisi. “...eggplant parmigiana, both with a side of linguini.” He listens for a moment, then: “Rafael Barba, yes. Special Victims Unit at the NYPD.” There’s one last pause before he finishes, “Thank you so much” and hangs up.

With a deep breath, Barba tucks his phone back into his pocket. “A man who I’m fairly certain is _not_ Italian says that our food will be here within half an hour.”

Rolling his eyes, Carisi tosses the pen at the monitor. “Thanks, counselor,” he says. “I owe you one.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The lawyer puts both feet back on the floor and balances his elbows on his knees. “Now, what shall we do while we wait?”

Carisi’s previous blush is nothing compared to the one that appears after Barba’s apparent double-entendre. Ironically, however, this is the one time that the lawyer has meant exactly what he said. In fact, he doesn’t even notice how the detective’s cheeks have turned three shades of violet because he’s too busy rifling through his briefcase. And by the time he actually looks back up, Carisi has managed to calm down enough that the blood redirects to other parts of his body instead.

Fortunately for him, Barba doesn’t seem to notice that either.

Closing his briefcase, the lawyer asks, “You wouldn’t happen to have a deck of playing cards, would you?”

Carisi slides back in his chair and pulls one of his desk drawers open. “As a matter’a fact…” he replies, trailing off as he looks beneath a stack of files. He used to be a rather disorganized person but, while he was shadowing Barba, the lawyer caught a glimpse of his workspace. It was quickly drilled into the detective that “you cannot be a successful lawyer if you are not organized.” Not wanted to disappoint his mentor, Carisi straightened up immediately. Having an immaculate work area also makes it easier for the detective to find the deck of cards he bought a few years ago while on a business trip with Rollins.

A few months before the case involving Deputy Chief Charles Patton, the two of them traveled to Atlanta for a conference. At the former’s request, they both retired early to the hotel bar and began pounding back shots. Unlike Rollins, Carisi does not have a high tolerance for alcohol, so he was drunk within the first hour. Loose-lipped as he was, he accidentally slipped and told her about a one-time sexual experience he had in college with his roommate.

Not as surprised as he thought she’d be, Rollins asked him if he was bisexual, to which Carisi responded with a vague shrug. “All’s I know is,” he replied, “Rafael is fuckin’ _fine.”_

 _“Barba?”_ Rollins replied, and the other detective bobbed his head. Laughing into her drink, she continued, “To each his own, I guess.”

The next evening, after listening to Patton speak for an uncomfortably long two hours, Rollins told Carisi that she was taking him out.

“Where to?” He asked as they climbed into a cab, to which she answered, “You’ll see.”

A few minutes later, they arrived in front of a large building sporting the words ‘Swinging Richards’ glaring neon blue in all capital letters.

“Amanda…” He began, but she quickly cut him off.

“Just give it a chance, Carisi,” she said, pulling him from the cab. “I really think you’ll like it.”

And so, after waiting in line for about twenty minutes, Carisi followed Rollins into his first ever gay strip club.

And _by_ _God_ did he enjoy himself.

On their way out, Carisi purchased a deck of playing cards, the backs of which had the name of the club while the faces had full-length shots of the strippers.

Somehow, however, the appearance of the cards slips Carisi’s mind, and he doesn’t remember that they each depict a half-naked man until he’s already placed them in front of Barba.

The lawyer has to do a double-take, but then he looks up at the other man and, both amused and a bit titillated, says, “Interesting design.”

“It was a joke,” the detective rushes, trying to explain it away. “Rollins— Rollins got it for me and it was just, it was a—”

Barba holds up a hand, a smile on his face. “It’s fine, Carisi.” Picking up the deck, he shuffles them once, twice, three times before dealing them out. “Do you know how to play blackjack?”

“Sure do,” Carisi replies, still a little breathless.

“Are you any good?”

The detective picks up his cards. “The best.”

Setting down what remains of the deck, Barba retrieves his own pile. Eyeing the other man, he replies with a bit of snark, “We’ll see about that.”


End file.
